


Of Which We Do Not Speak

by InkStainsOnMyHands



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Death, Feelings, Ghosts, Horror, Injury, M/M, Secret Crush, paramedics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-19 23:29:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14883284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkStainsOnMyHands/pseuds/InkStainsOnMyHands
Summary: About three percent of all calls assigned to paramedics are considered unclassifiable.Ryan experiences what that means first hand.





	Of Which We Do Not Speak

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, look at me churning out a new fanfic, and it’s another medical au. 
> 
> Yeah...

Ryan Bergara had never had a crush on another man before, but Shane Madej was something else.

 

Shane was the kind of paramedic everyone aspired to be. He was a step above a sociopath, charming enough to make a teenage girl forget about the jagged bone that pierced through the flesh and sinew of her arm like a sword through torn silk, but cold enough not to flinch at the high-pitched screeching of a flatline. The first time Ryan noticed his heart throb for Shane was when he saw the tall man toss himself over the waist of a patient to start chest compressions, and yet, aside from the exertion of literally breaking someone’s rib cage to keep their heart going, there was little in the way of emotion shifting the lines of his expresion. Oddly, this coldness turned him on.

 

But, it was the quiet moments in the ambulance that Ryan appreciated the most.

 

Ryan continued to chew on his burrito, even as he stared at Shane. To his spirit’s content, Shane gazed back at him with a soft fondness Ryan could find no words to properly describe. Could it be that Shane felt the same way about him?  Could it be that Shane was just as content to sit in silence in his presence as Ryan was in Shane’s presence?

 

Ryan opened his mouth to say something, anything, but then a voice penetrated the crackling of their radio to inform them of a call to the historic Wade House. Ryan shivered.

 

“Wanna take it?” Shane asked quietly. His hand was already outstretched for the receiver of the two-way radio.  

 

Without a proper reason to deny the call, Ryan nodded silently.

 

Shane pulled the receiver to his mouth and pressed the button on its side. “Bus 1345, we’re clear. What’s the emergency? Over.” He let go of the button.

 

“PD reports a woman shot,” the operator responded back, voice monotone. “Could be an N/A. Over.”

 

Shane clicked the receiver on again. “10-4. We’ll investigate.”

 

Ryan raised an eyebrow; paramedics didn’t “investigate” anything, nor had he ever heard of an “N/A” before. Regardless, Shane pulled out of their parking spot and headed down the street. Despite reports of a gunshot wound, Shane did not turn on the siren, and when Ryan made the upwards motion to do it himself, Shane waved him off.

  
“Don’t worry, we won’t need it.” 

* * *

The officer, standing on the sidewalk before the imposing mansion that was the Wade House, appeared extremely pale. Sweat pooled at his brow, making his receding hairline shine that much more. His eyes, wide and dilated, shifted from the paramedics to the house in quick successions, almost as if he were high.

 

From Ryan’s initial assessment of the cop, it appeared as though _he_ needed the emergency assistance more than anyone else.

 

There was no sign of the wounded woman. Backup hadn’t been called, or at the very least, they weren’t there yet. What was going on?

 

“N/A?” Shane asked the officer curtly.

 

The officer nodded. “Yeah, looks like. I can’t find her anywhere. The spook damn near gave me a heart attack,” he breathed out.

 

“Well, we’ll take a look,” Shane replied with a small sigh.

 

Ryan whipped his head towards Shane. What? No! Paramedics aren’t in the position to enter a house without an officer clearing it with them after a gunshot has been reported. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the shorter man started.

 

Shane shot him a look as deadly as the gunshot they were entrusted to treat. Immediately, Ryan snapped his lips shut. After a moment, they both walked into the building.

 

Darkness permeated the space, almost like a thick fog. The only tiny slivers of light that touched the creaking floorboards came from the small openings in the curtains covering the expansive windows.

 

Ryan reached for his flashlight and clicked the device on. The beam illuminated furniture covered in white sheets and a thick layer dust. He aimed the flashlight towards the floor in the hopes that a tell-tale trail of blood or dusty footprints could lead him to the injured individual. Nope, no such luck, even with aiming the beam of light throughout the entire front room.

 

“I’ll take the upstairs,” Shane whispered; Ryan suppressed his need to jump at the sudden voice. “You stay down here, let me know if you hear or see anything.”

 

“Got it, boss,” Ryan chuckled.

 

Shane returned the small affection before turning to his right and bounding up the stairs. With each step up the cracking steps, Ryan flinched, worried for the integrity of the ancient staircase and Shane’s safety. Still, he did as he was told, and remained at the foyer.

 

With each passing moment, a silent dread crept closer and closer up Ryan’s spine, until his heart began to pound for no explicit reason. God, get a hold of yourself, Ryan growled at himself as he shifted on his feet in an effort to relieve the static anxiety circling his legs. Yes, it was dark, but he’d been in shittier places, and without Shane. Though, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching him from the shadows, stalking him like a predator.

 

Then, a flash of white at the corner of his eye captured his attention. He aimed his flashlight at the other end of the room, where an opening lead guests from the living room to elsewhere. There, the faintest whisper of white silk passed through.

 

“Hey!” Ryan shouted. Without thought or preamble, he weaved through the furniture and charged towards the entrance into what turned out to be a dining room. At the other end of the long oak table, was a woman, her back turned towards Ryan.

 

From what he could see, she was dressed in period clothing: a long, flowing Victorian dress accented her figure, while her blonde locks were pulled back into a tight bun at the top of her head. A reenactor, possibly? He wasn’t aware the Wade House was giving tours during the off season. Regardless, Ryan called out to her again.

 

Slowly, the female turned. At first, she appeared quite normal, pretty even, with delicate features and wide blue eyes. Despite the splotch of blood soaking through the bosom of her dress, she did not appear distressed. Sad, maybe, but it was obvious she was in shock. It wasn’t anything Ryan hadn’t seen before in his two-year long career. Often, a person appeared saddened in the face of an injury, especially one made by a loved one.

 

“Ma’am, who hurt you?” Ryan asked as he moved to approach her. In that moment, her face transmuted.

 

The woman’s skin turned to ash. Her blue eyes sunk into her face, leaving behind black, soulless pits, as her pretty mouth widened into an endless maw set in a silent scream. The splotch of blood on her chest dried to reveal the gaping hole left behind by what had to have been a shotgun blast.

 

“Fuck! Shit,” Ryan shouted, scrambling back as the figure vanished from his sight. He squealed when he felt hard muscle hit his back.

 

“Ryan!” Shane shouted from behind him. Ryan turned to bury himself in the sanctuary that was Shane’s broad chest, never happier to be in close proximity to his crush. Large hands tilted Ryan’s face in Shane’s direction. “Hey, hey, what happened? What did you see?”

 

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Ryan chanted hysterically.  

* * *

The shock didn’t wear off until a half-an-hour after the movie Shane played for them at his apartment started. Ryan could finally begin to enjoy the warm, fluttering feeling throughout his body at having Shane’s arms wrapped around his shoulders.

 

Shane must have felt him sag or relax, because in that next moment, he explained, “N/A’s get easier to deal with.”

 

“What are those?” Ryan answered automatically.

 

With a hushed voice, Shane whispered, “Calls that we get that aren’t applicable to any classification. They defy any code. About three percent of all calls assigned to paramedics are considered unclassifiable.”

 

A chill chased away the warmth in his chest. “Have you -?”

 

“No,” Shane said firmly. “At least, not like what you saw. But, I once treated a diver in Orange County who had drowned. I started CPR, and he woke up, started breathing on his own, had even walked into the ambulance by himself. I drove him down to the hospital, talked to him the whole way there. It wasn’t until I opened the back that I discovered a decaying corpse lying there in the gurney. I eventually found out after the autopsy was performed that he had been dead for at least three days.”

 

Ryan shifted closer to Shane. His own arms wrapped around his torso. “I thought you didn’t believe in that kind of stuff.”

 

“I don’t,” Shane reaffirmed. “I believe the brain does some fucked up shit in the face of trauma, and I don’t know of anybody besides the military or police that have see more fucked up shit than we do.”

 

“You think I hallucinated?” Ryan asked gently, undefensive.  

 

Shane’s hold on Ryan tightened. “I think the universe sometimes fucks up, and maybe, just maybe, there might be some shit out there that defies physics.”

 

Ryan could accept that answer, and did so with a kiss to Shane’s chin.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me @ faequill on tumblr.


End file.
